The Path to Winter
by Toryna
Summary: Westeros is drowning in blood while a relentless cold encroaches from the North. The Good Masters of Essos tremble beneath the shadow of the Last Dragonlord. Robb Stark and Daenerys Targaryen are burdened with powers that can topple gods; history will be theirs to write.


**AN:** Hello! This is my first fanfiction, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Have fun.

 **Disclaimer:** I own neither Game of Thrones nor Worm.

 **Robb I**

With strange calm I rose from kneeling by the corpse of my wife, staring at my _red, red_ _hands, as red as the lion of the Reynes_ , and with monumental effort I tore my gaze away to look around the chaos.

Tables were turned over, men – _Stark men_ – taking refuge behind them if they could, but it was all but pointless; Frey crossbowmen were taking shots from the upper balconies, while the sellswords herded them out into the open, slaughtering them as if they were nothing but pigs in a crowded pen. Some, like the Smalljon were fighting fiercely despite resembling a porcupine more than the fearless warrior I knew him to be, yet others were laying in their own pools of blood, lifeless eyes staring into nothing, a mockery of the passion they held in life.

"Robb!"

The shout penetrated through the cacophony in the great hall, and I turned my head in it's direction slowly, as if I was underwater, and laid my eyes on the distressed face of my mother, standing in front of the left end of the high table. I wanted to shout at her, tell her to find cover, but my throat felt as if it was frozen solid, only a pathetic breath of air escaping my lips.

Of course, now that I was looking in her direction, I couldn't help but turn my gaze further right, towards the center of the table, and soon I beheld the „Late" Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins and my supposed ally against the Lannisters.

 _He is smiling_ – I noted with detached interest – _and sipping from his cup, as if this was nothing but a mere mummer's farce or a knightly joust._ He was looking at me, the lead actor of this macabre play, a cruel smile twisting his lips, with a glint in his eyes that sent chills down my spine even after all I've been through.

In that moment I understood Walder Frey in a way I haven't before; he cared nothing for the ideals of honor, of justice and any kindness he might have possessed in his heart once has long withered away along with his body. There would be no point in trying to strike a bargain for the life of my men or my mother – perhaps if I was anyone else but the grandson of Hoster Tully, I might have succeeded in convincing him, but I wasn't, and so I and everyone else would pay in blood for my slight of him.

Seeing me looking at him, his lips stretched even wider, and he raised his cup high in the air towards me.

"To the King in the North! May his life be as long as his reign, and _blessed_ with just as many children!"

His reedy voice seemed to echo through the great hall without trouble, and his cackling sounded to me like someone started hewing the bark off a tree. _It's clear he believes he told some great jape at my expense. Walder Frey, the Lord of Jesters – the world has truly gone mad._

My incredulous thoughts were reflected on the face of my mother, whom I could still see from the corner of my eyes. Anger, fear, disbelief and a myriad emotions I couldn't name warred for dominance on her face, as plain to see as if they were writings in a book.

Despite her inner turmoil, her voice was steady and confident, with only the barest edge of hysteria tinting it that none would notice who didn't know her well.

"Lord Frey, _please_ , it's not yet too late to cease this madness. I'm certain we can put this... this folly- "

 _Oh, mother, you never had much talent for diplomacy, did you?_

My bleak thoughts proved true when Lord Walder's snickering abruptly cut off, and he whipped his head to stare at my mother, his surprised look quickly morphing into one of fury so great it seemed to choke the words in mother's throat.

"You! Even now you take _that_ tone with me, you wench?!" he rose out of his chair, thumping on the table with his hands, the goblet he was drinking from rolling onto the stone floor, forgotten. ''You are truly the spawn of your damned father, may he rot in a shallow grave! I'm going to show you _folly_ , you arrogant cunt."

He shifted his gaze, looking past my mother, and gave a curt nod, a nasty smile forming on his face once again, but my attention was no longer on him – instead, I looked towards my mother, and with muted horror noticed someone – _isn't that one of Walder's many sons? –_ sneaking up behind her.

I wanted to shout a warning, to scream in denial, to run up to her before it was too late, but I remained rooted to my spot, staring, my mouth moving with nary a sound escaping, as if I was nothing but a useless half-wit; just as I have done for the past several minutes – _how could everything go wrong in such little time? Not long ago I was talking with Jeyne, and now my mother will join her and the rest of our family in death._

Everything seemed to slow down, and all noise was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears, my heart beating a staccato rhythm in my chest. My entire world narrowed until only my mother and the man behind her were in it; I could see everything happening in slow motion, as if the Old Gods themselves decreed that this moment was to last forever.

The man, grabbing my mother with one hand and pulling her to his chest, a dagger in his other, being raised to her throat. My mother, looking at me, her eyes filled with shock, desperation, anger, _regret._ The flash of steel, a line of red, gurgling, choking, gasping, _red everywhere, soaking her dress, spilling on the ground, the last of my family deaddeadea-_

 **Destination. Agreement.**

 _Two vast beings with bodies made of the stars themselves danced and twisted in an endless expanse of void, separating and reuniting, their very essences exposed to me even though I could scarcely comprehend what I was seeing._

 **Trajectory. Agreement.**

 _A single point of light, an insignificant piece of these titanic gods yet brighter and larger than the sun itself detached from one of them and headed towards me, at a speed that defied everything I knew, growing until it completely filled my vision and-_

I blinked rapidly, the strange vision fading yet I could recall every detail of it with crystal clarity. _What was that? Some vision of the Old Gods? Or perhaps,_ I mused _, I just went insane with the knowledge of my impending demise._

 _After all, how could I possibly survive this treachery, with half my men dead or dying?_

4,376 steps.

My shock at receiving an answer was overshadowed by the queer feeling of my body moving without my consent; my right hand lashed out, grabbing Lord Bolton's arm - _what was he doing- oh_ \- and I flexed my fingers in a strange pattern, forcing him to drop the dagger he was wielding, which I grabbed out of the air with my left hand.

The eldritch force controlling my body didn't waste a second, using my grip on Bolton's arm to pull him towards me at an angle while twisting my body aside, a bewildering action that made sense when a crossbow bolt that would have no doubt hit me in the shoulder pierced his throat instead.

I didn't get to enjoy the look of absolute shock on his face too long, for I was already releasing my hold of him, letting him collapse on the floor in a bloody heap and turning fully towards the high table – in time to see Walder Frey slumping back in his seat, trying to stem the blood flowing from his neck, his eyes wide with panic, the dagger that was in my hand seconds ago still vibrating slightly, stuck in the back of his throne.

Every combatant seemed to pause for a second, and complete silence descended on the hall, except for the death throes of the soon to be very aptly titled Late Walder Frey.

A single word, a thought, a concept dominated my thoughts.

 _What._


End file.
